


Magpie

by CristinaSea



Category: Actor RPF, Harry Styles - Fandom, Timothée Chalamet - Fandom
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fiction, M/M, Slice of Life, non-linear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-03-05 20:03:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18835786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CristinaSea/pseuds/CristinaSea
Summary: Slice of life





	1. Magpie

**Author's Note:**

> Bedtime

“Tell me again, Papa.”

Tim smiled and tapped the little girl’s nose with a long thin finger before snuggling her on his lap. “Do you know what an interview is, petal?”

She nodded and recited, “It’s when someone you like asks you questions about your favorite things.” They were treading well-worn paths. Marguerite’s favorite bed time story was how her parents met. It always started with the question about an interview.

“Not quite, luv,” Harry interjected from the doorway, a pile of folded clothing in his arms. “It’s when someone asks you questions about things.”

“But, Daddy, Papa liked you and wanted you to ask him about all his important things, so you would like him too. Right, Papa?” The little girl looked between her two favorite people, chestnut curls swinging.

“Is that right, Papa?” Harry raised an eyebrow, putting the clothing down on top of a chest of drawers. A dimple appeared although his face was solemn.

Tim grinned, cheeky, green eyes sparkling. “You were taking too long. You followed me on Instagram then I never heard anything! I had to take matters into my hands.”

“And I’m glad you did,” Harry squeezed onto the bed, his arms encircling his family. “Now it’s time you were asleep, Magpie.”

Marguerite’s eyelids lowered and she breathed a deep sigh of contentment. Her daddies were home and all was well in the world.


	2. Sir Knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Names

“Mummy said that I wanted to be born between the iris and the hostas. There was a patch of daisies there, so Granpapa said I should be named Marguerite.”

The little boy looked around the garden doubtfully before handing Marguerite another daisy. “Where did I want to be born then?”

“You weren’t named after flowers, silly. Daddy said Ms Stevie came to Ireland for a Christmas visit. He said that you wanted to see her so badly that you jumped out of Mummy straight into Ms Stevie’s arms.” 

Maggie stood and with a flourish laid the circle of daisies onto her little brother’s dark curls. “Rise! Sir Stephen, faithful knight of the Lady Saoirse and His Majesties Harold and Timothée.”

Stevie rolled his blue eyes and pushed himself up. “Ok, ok. Can we say goodbye to the ducks now?”

“I suppose so. We won’t see them until we visit Mummy again on your birthday.” Maggie stepped forward and threw petals on the ground, “I shall clear the way for thee, sir knight!”

In the bungalow cottage, three very amused adults watched the children walk to the side yard. Stevie dragging a stick on the grass, Maggie strewing petals before him. 

Harry put one arm around their mother and the other around his husband.“Oh Maggie. So dramatic! I wonder where she gets it from?”


	3. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clothes

Tim looked up from his script and burst out laughing. “Maggie, what are you doing with that old thing?”

The little girl sauntered into the room, as best she could, her face and hair the only thing visible. The rest of her body was swallowed up in a red and black floral jacket ten times too large for her. Stevie toddled after her, holding up the jacket flap like a train. Behind this little procession followed Harry, grinning broadly.

“It’s for school, Papa. We have to dress up like who we want to be when we grow up,” Maggie explained, her voice slightly exasperated. “I want to be like you and Daddy and Mummy. _Une actrice!_ ” 

Tim could only guess how many times she’d had to explain this already to her little brother. Stevie could be counted on to be her partner in crime but only after he’d understood the fifth _why_ of anything. And then she would have had to explain it to Harry.

“It has to be the McQueen, _Hazza_?” Tim quirked an eyebrow at Harry.

“Babe, she wanted flowers,” Harry shrugged with a impish smile. He knelt down in front of Maggie and took her hands in his.

“Now, Magpie, be very careful with Papa’s jacket. It’s a very special jacket.”

“Ok, Daddy,” Maggie nodded solemnly.

“But why, Daddy? Why is it a special jacket? Is it magic?” Stevie’s eyes grew wide.

“Daddy gave it to Papa, Stevie,” Maggie jumped in before Harry could respond. “To give Papa conf- con- confession when he was scared.”

“Confidence,” Harry corrected gently, tweaking her nose and smoothing back Stevie’s curly moptop. “That’s right. Papa knew I was watching even if I wasn’t there. Just like I’ll always be looking out for you two.”

“I’ll be very careful, Daddy, Papa,” Maggie promised, the picture of earnestness.

“That’s ok, petal. That jacket gave us you and your brother, and I’d much rather have the two of you than have a beautiful jacket. Besides,” Tim winked at her with a sideways glance at Harry, “Next year, you can wear Daddy’s Gucci.”


	4. Almost cranky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manners

Maggie was tired and hungry. If she were to use her words, she would say she was almost cranky. They had been to visit Auntie Gemma and the baby. He was very small and didn’t do much and it had been exciting to hold him. Maggie had had to sit down and be very still the whole time. Then Stevie had wanted to do it too but Papa had shook his head and said Stevie could touch Baby Robin’s feet instead. Maggie looked longingly into the stroller that Papa was pushing now and saw that Stevie was fast asleep.

“Daddy, are we there yet?” She looked up hopefully. She didn’t really know where _there_ was, but they had been walking around this place ( _cemetery_ ) for a very long time. Sometimes they would stop and look at a big stone. _Tomb_ , Papa called it. He said it was where some people went when they died. Maggie had learned about dying last year when her friend’s cat, Sebastian, had died. Julie had been very sad and Maggie had been sad that Julie was sad. Thinking about all the dead people here had made Maggie sad. She had asked who they were, if they were someone’s Mummy or Daddy or Papa or brother or sister. Then the idea had popped in her head about all the daughters and sisters who were sad and she had burst into tears.

“I’m sad for all the sisters and daughters who are so sad. Just like Julie,” she had hiccoughed into Daddy’s shoulder, when he had picked her up. He had rubbed her back and held her close while Papa told her that even if they were sad, the families had good memories of their dead loved ones. The memories would help make them feel happier.

“Just like I reminded Julie about the time Sebastian got all tangled in that ball of yarn. She laughed and felt better, right, Papa? That’s a happy memory.” Maggie had smiled. It was a happy memory for her too. But then she remembered something else. “Julie has a new kitten! And now she’s only a little sad when she thinks about Sebastian.”

Daddy had ruffled her hair and said that you can’t replace people the same way. “Sometimes, happy memories are all families have to help them when they are sad.”

They had walked around a bit more, Maggie in Daddy’s arms, then she saw a tomb with an angel lying on it and had wriggled down to take a closer look. But now she was tired, hungry, and very close to being cranky. So she asked again, “Papa, are we there yet?” and held up her arms. 

Papa pushed the stroller to Daddy and picked her up. “How cranky are you, petal?”

Maggie shook her head, “Not yet, but I’m very close to it, Papa.” She held her two hands close, “This close.” But she was smiling. It was a game they played and she knew there would be cuddles and kisses at the end of it.

“Tim,” Daddy said softly and nodded his head at two ladies who were standing next to a tomb and looking at them. Papa and Daddy did the thing where they said words to each other without talking. Maggie looked between the two of them. They both nodded.

“Just a couple of minutes,” Papa whispered, “And no kids.”

Maggie watched Daddy walk over to the ladies and bring them back. They were all smiles.

“Tim, Maggie, this is Katie and her daughter, Opal,” he said.

Papa smiled at the ladies. “Hi. How’s your Sunday going?”

He looked at Maggie. “This is our daughter, Marguerite. She’s never been photographed and we’d appreciate it if you didn’t post any photos of her or our son.”

Maggie knew her manners. She didn’t know the ladies, but her daddies were talking to them and they were laughing. The ladies looked very happy.

She smiled too and put out her hand, “Very nice to meet you.” Just like Mummy had taught her.

The ladies were even more happy with her than with Papa and Daddy. Daddy put her down and told her to hold the stroller while Papa held their telephone and took the selfies - just the grown-ups. They took two selfies with Daddy and Papa.

“Are they your friends, Daddy?” Maggie asked afterwards, watching the ladies walk away.

“They aren’t our friends, like you and Julie are friends, but they like us and only want good things for us,” Daddy said, smoothing her hair. “I’m very proud of you, Magpie. You just gave someone a happy memory.”

Maggie smiled. She felt cuddled even if she was standing on the ground, still holding onto Stevie’s stroller. She didn’t feel so cranky anymore, but she was still tired and hungry. So she lifted up her arms and tried again, “Can we please have tea now?”


	5. Just breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Birth

Tim was petrified when he saw her head emerge, all blood and dark matted hair. Beside him, he dimly heard Harry say calmly and gently, “That’s it, Sersh. She’s almost here, love.” Ever since Saoirse had made that peculiar groan - halfway between a moan and a grunt, Harry had been talking non-stop. For the last three ( _four?_ ) hours, it had been encouraging words, reminders to _breathe in, breathe out,_ all in the same soft voice. Doing the things they had learned in the birthing classes. 

Whereas Tim had grabbed hold of Saoirse’s hand and had held on. At some point in the interminable night ( _was it still night?_ ), he had bowed his head and whispered a plea for the sake of his friend who had so generously offered herself and her womb, for his ( _their_ ) daughter, for the fathers they would become.

Now, he didn’t know anymore who was holding on to whom, just that their hands were numb and clasped so tightly that he no longer could tell which fingers were his own. He had never felt so helpless - or useless - in his life.

He watched in awe as the baby worked her shoulders out and suddenly she was in the blanket that the nurse and Harry were holding. Tim registered Harry nudging him and telling him to _look at her. Look at our daughter, Tim!_ Harry had tears in his eyes and Saoirse was laughing. _Laughing!_

Tim focused on the little wrinkled face. She was so tiny! And he had responsibility for her life from this point on. He swallowed against the panic that was starting to rise.

Marguerite opened her eyes. ( _Blue eyes. Saoirse’s_ , Tim thought.) Her face crumpled a bit more. A small dimple creased her cheek. She looked just like Harry in the morning. She took a deep breath that shuddered through her tiny body. Her cry was shockingly loud. And just like that, Tim fell in love all over again.


	6. Sis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siblings

Maggie knelt down in the dirt and pulled him up.

“Why didn’t you tell me, you bozo?” she whispered into his hair. Stevie was stinky with fear-sweat and his curls were matted around his head. A lump was starting on his cheekbone.

“Because I’m Sir Stevie,” he mumbled. “Not much of a knight of the Lady Saoirse and His Majesties if I can’t fight my own battles.” 

“It’s not your own battles, you know. I’m here and you’ll make new friends. Remember what Papa always says, we’re not meant to do this by ourselves. You just be the best YOU. We’ve got you.”

Maggie stood and watched Stevie tie his shoelaces, surrounded by the debris that had once been inside his very organized knapsack. Her hands fisted when she spied torn paper, one of Stevie’s sketches, discarded, crumpled and dirty. _Someone had it coming._

Of the three of them, Stevie had inherited both mummy and Papa’s thin bodies. He was clumsy, always tripping over his feet, his face buried in some book. He just got eyeglasses this year. And even when he was deep in thought, he smiled easily with a grin that could light up the sky at midnight. He also had a sweet tooth.

 _No. Stevie doesn’t need this right now._ Instead, she reached into her book bag and grabbed a Tootsie Roll. He looked up questioningly when she nudged him with her knee. With a wink, she showed him the candy and his face split into a blinding grin.

“Thank you, Sis.”

_Thank you, Sis._

**

She had been eight, maybe nine years old. Nanny Bev had already gone for the day. 

“Can you help me out and watch the boys while I take a shower, petal?” Papa had asked her. Of course, she could. “Stevie, Maggie’s in charge,” Papa had said. She had felt quite grown up.

Stevie was in the play area, a jumble of letter blocks in front of him, concentrating hard. She could see his lips moving as he sounded out words that he was putting together. He had built up a low wall of pillows protecting his blocks. Finn was little more than a baby, just learning how to talk and how to push himself up on his little arms, chubby legs tucked under him. 

Suddenly, Finn gave a massive heave and propelled himself straight into the pillow wall, knocking down Stevie’s blocks and whatever story he’d been concocting in his head.

 **“FINN!”** The chorus of voices (one in anger, the other in fear) startled the baby and Finn, after looking at both of them with wide green eyes, opened his mouth to let out a piercing cry, overpowering their voices. 

Stevie swiveled his head to look at Maggie, his own blue eyes wide, his anger dissolving as quickly as it was triggered, panic taking its place. _Do something!_

Neither had ever heard Finn do this. He was usually a calm baby, always smiling and reaching out to play with people’s faces.  


Maggie scanned the room and grabbed a picture frame holding a family photograph.

Carefully she sat down next to Finn, holding him gently.

“Look Finn,” she took his hand and patted the photo with it, “It’s Daddy, and Papa, and Mummy, and here’s Stevie, and here is me, Maggie and you, Baby Finn.”

Finn was having none of it and continued bawling. Maggie met Stevie’s eyes, fear running through her body. _What if the baby was hurt?_ She stroked Finn’s back, carefully cupping his downy-haired head like she saw Daddy do, gently feeling for _.. something not baby-like?_ Stevie sat across from her and pointed at the photo, repeating softly, over and over, “It’s Daddy, and Papa, and Mummy, and here’s Stevie, and here is Maggie and you, Baby Finn.”

After about five more times, Finn started patting the photo on his own and nodding his head in time with the words. Maggie continued stroking his back, joining in the recital of words. 

“Daddy, Papa, Mummy, Stevie, Maggie, Finn.”

“Dada!” Finn said, patting Daddy’s face. “Dada dada dada!”

“Did he just say Dada?” Daddy asked joining them on the play mat. He smelled like the outdoors and Maggie had never been so relieved.

He lifted Finn from Maggie’s lap. Immediately Finn wriggled around and held out his arms to Maggie.

“Mags!” Finn shouted, demanding.

“Another new word!” Daddy was very pleased. He nuzzled Finn’s soft brown hair. “Were you in charge, Magpie?”

“But I wasn’t, Daddy. Finn fell on the pillows and he cried and cried.” Maggie looked at the baby and burst into tears. “He’s ok, isn’t he?”

Warm arms embraced her, enveloping her in a cloud of comforting smells. Papa’s clean straight-from-the-shower scent mixing with Daddy’s. “Hey, hey, hey. What’s this, petal?”

The story hiccoughed out of her with interruptions by Stevie: the fall and the screaming _(super loud)_ and she was so scared and Stevie was so scared _(so scared)_ and that made her _scareder_ but she remembered Finn liked patting faces so she got the photo and Stevie repeated it _(like a rap)_ and Finn calmed down _(I calmed down too. Maggie was brilliant, Papa)._

“That was quick thinking and improvising. What a scare you had! Thank you for being a responsible big sister today, Maggie. And thank you, Stevie for helping out. Challenges are always easier when you share them with someone.” Papa rubbed her back and after a while Maggie hadn’t felt scared anymore.

Stevie was already putting his blocks in order, but he paused and looked over his shoulder. “Thank you, Sis.”

**

“Maggie?” Stevie’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Don’t tell the dads, ok? I want to tell them.”

Maggie nodded and looked at him thoughtfully. Behind his eyeglasses, his blue eyes were determined. A warm wave of pride rushed through her. “Onwards, Sir Knight! Race you to the car!”

They were almost to the queue of waiting vehicles. Daddy was waiting, leaning against the driver-side door, reading a book, but he looked up as they sprinted towards him. With a laugh, he opened his arms wide to greet them.


	7. Mummy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heartbeats

It was the perfect weather for a waiting sort of day. Clouds had been gathering on the horizon all morning and by noon, there was a decidedly autumn-like briskness in the wind. September was quickly overcoming summer. 

Tim and Harry had taken the children down to beach that morning. Saoirse had walked with them to the bottom of the garden where there was a view towards the sea and a path that led down to the cove. Already she had seen white caps rising and falling in the distance.

Now they were sprawled lazily in the front room, comfortably full after a lunch of fish burgers and chips (Maggie’s request) and the last of the apple tart (Stevie’s request). Harry had put on a new singer he was thinking of producing; the melodies were sweet and her voice was husky. He was slouched on the sofa across from hers, a tender expression on his face, watching as Tim played a subdued game of Go Fish with Maggie and Stevie. Stevie won the game and a delighted smile nearly split his face in two. Not quite four yet, but already showing glimpses of an astute intelligence that belied his age. Maggie, ever dramatic, but with a staunch sense of fair play and good sportsmanship, held out a congratulatory hand.

“As the winner, you get to pick what to do next.”

“Let’s read to Mummy.”

“Only if I get to do voices.”

Saoirse rearranged the throw pillows around her to make room for the children. Across the room Tim had joined Harry on the sofa, hands intertwined. Harry’s eyes were closed, head tilted back. He might have been asleep except for his thumb drawing circles on Tim’s knuckles.

Saoirse closed her eyes too and let the warm-child weight of her children press her into the cushions. Their voices blended in with the melancholy music. Outside the rain pelted down on the tall windows and Saoirse felt her thoughts drift away, languorous, dreamlike.

Family and love. _So much love._ Tim and Harry. Through the children the bonds of love she had for the two men were made visible. Being their surrogate had been a no-brainer. Her dearest friend and the person he loved most in the world. It was an honor. She hadn’t counted on how much love she would have for the children though. Or the profound sense of oneness. 

Saoirse imagined veins and arteries and hearts pumping steadily. Her blood flowing in her children’s veins. Only _they_ had felt her inner warmth or had heard her heartbeat echoing through their bodies. She imagined that whilst her heart had literally beat for them, her babies had absorbed all the wishes, dreams, hopes, and love and _wonder_ she had felt throughout the pregnancies. She imagined, no, she _knew,_ that her body had protected them and that she, herself, always would.

Saoirse always felt their absences acutely, but she knew herself. She was too committed to her career and her causes. Besides the boys were so good at making sure she was part of their family. She saw that Tim, particularly, was concerned about any sense of estrangement she might feel. But Saoirse discovered that the sense of oneness never went away. She looked at her children and they looked back at her with her eyes. Their wounds caused her pain. Their delight sparked joy.

Inexplicably, she also keenly felt the wonder of their individuality. Nature _and_ nurture and more. We are products of both, plus whatever stardust the universe put in us, Saoirse thought. They had her blue eyes but the dark curls of their fathers. You could tell whose gametes had fathered them: Maggie’s deep dimple, Stevie’s slight built and finely-drawn features. In their behaviors, you could see small replicas of Tim and Harry: Maggie’s long stride and dramatic bent, Stevie’s aptitude for books and music. But whence comes Maggie’s surprisingly fierce stand on fairness or Stevie’s ability to find humor in every situation. And what about Finn..

The pain arrived suddenly, sharper now. She bit her lip, involuntarily drew a quick gasp that brought Harry and Tim to her side.

Both children had felt the spasm.

“Is that Finn coming, Mummy?” Maggie whispered.

Stevie’s eyes rounded wide. He lay his head against Saoirse’s swollen belly. “Baby Finn,” he said, patting it gently.

“Baby Finn,” Saoirse nodded. She hugged her two children close, suppressing a wince as another cramp hit. It was almost time.


End file.
